Island Paradise – Part 2: Chapter 02

By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 2: Quaint Local Customs

You don’t need to be on St. Bevons very long before you know they have all different races there.  So Patrick was some kind of Asian and the other one–Dobie, like it said on his shirt–was white.  Not surprising.  And they have their own accent or dialect or whatever.  I mean you hear it but not from the ones that have any money, lol!  Patrick had it, but underneath you could tell that he had to be an American.  Same for the other one.  You knew it by how they said things.  Like when Dobie said, “Yeh, we be outta you way soon sir.”  These guys on the island, like cooks and so on, always said “waaaay,” like it might go on forever, and when they got to something like “sir,” it was “sirrrr.”

But these two guys didn’t sound like that.  They sounded like I sounded when Dan took me to his room and gave me a beer (thanks, Dan–finally!) and I did my imitation of islan’ talk till he told me I was drunk and I should knock it off.  So you can learn to talk that way, but you might not be perfect.  Anyhow, Dobie and Patrick pulled off the bedclothes and brought in some new sheets and fluffed up the pillows and went in the bathroom and scrubbed and flushed and mopped and sprayed, and all the time they were chattering away in islan’ but the way they cranked their shoulders and slung their butts was totally USA.

Meanwhile, there was a big easy chair, and I was lyin back in my long baggy shorts and my stupid ST. BEVONS IS FOR LOVERS shirt, tryin to keep my hand off my crotch.  It was all so amazing that they weren’t the short fat little ladies that they always send to “do” your room.  They were hot dudes and when they pulled and tugged and fluffed and so on you could see the muscles moving under their clothes.  I wasn’t brave enough to go in the bathroom and watch while Dobie got down and cleaned my toilet, but when I moved my head to one side I did get a good view of his butt, which was awesome!   Explorers Bay was a lot more exciting than I’d thought it would be.

Then I realized—these dudes are about to leave!  Dobie was already finishing the toilet and Patrick was standing up after working the tub.  But I had to keep this going.  I went over and stood in the door to the bathroom.  “So,” I said.  “Where you guys from?”

That must have surprised them, because they got sort of stiff and alert and Patrick said, “Palo Alto sir,” and Dobie said, “Grosse Pointe sir.”  I knew there were lots of young American guys that worked in resorts during the summer.  They saved their money and they spent their jizz.   Lots more adventure than anything my parents wanted me to have.

“Here for the summer?” I said.

Dobie looked at his friend and grinned.  “Yes sir.  For thee summer sir.  And thee rest of thee time sir.”

“You mean you live here all year?”

“Need to sir.  Like you see sir, we slap boys sir.  With our numbers sir.”  And he pointed at the SLP on his chest, and what came after it.

I hadn’t noticed the number!  And I’d never seen anybody numbered before.  On your driver’s license or something, yeah, but not on your clothes!

“You see sir,” Patrick put in, “we been bad boys sir.  Ver’ BAD boys sir.”

They both grinned and looked bashful again.  Fuck they were cute.

“So we got to be punish sir,” Dobie continued.  “We got to stay here an work sir.  See this sir . . . .”

He put his hand on his neck—where I’d already noticed, he was wearing a silver necklace.  Patrick too.  That’s what it looked like.  So OK—some kind of style.  Like the dudes that park people’s cars.  They’re always in uniform, but they’re always wearin some kinda bling or whatever on their neck and maybe an earring or so.  Then Dobie took a step forward and got his thumb inside the necklace and pulled it out farther so I could see it, and now I could tell it wasn’t, like, links or anything, it was hard all the way around, and it was looking less like it was silver and more like it was steel, and there was a little round tag hanging off of it.  He wiggled the tag so the light hit it harder.  There were three letters stamped on it–EBR–with palm leaves around them in a circle.  “Explorers Bay Resort,” he said.  “That’s who owns us sir.”

“Owns you?”

“That’s right sir.  They call it ‘lease,’ but ain’t no diffrence sir.  We done some crimes aroun’, an that’s what happen when they catch you sir.  They make you a slappie sir.”

“It’s true sir,” Patrick said.  “Dobe an me, we get caught, then we get sentence, then we get own by Explorers Bay.  So we be here resta our lives sir.  Jus so we can wash you toilet sir.”  Big grin.

“You mean—it’s like you’re in prison?”

“Yeh sir,” Dobie said.  “Prett’ much like that sir.  See what they put on here.”  He pointed at his necklace again, and I looked where he was pointing.  There was a line of numbers stamped on it: 22472.  “Same as here,” he said, pointing to the numbers on his shirt.  Yeh, thee same line a numbers.  That’s my name sir.  My real name now sir.”

“We do wrong,” Patrick said, “so we bein punish now.”  He paused and looked down, like he was thinking hard. “But maybe that depens sir.”


“Depens on whose toilet we washin sir.  Sometime maybe, it’s not like bein punish.  Sir.”

He smiled and turned to Dobie.  They smiled at each other.  Then they smiled at me.

“But now we be goin sir.  Thank you sir.  We jus gather our things up sir.”

They collected their soaps and brushes and my dirty sheets and towels, and they gave the bed an extra tuck, and they gave me another grin and said, “Day now sir.”  And left.   But they weren’t looking at my face.  They were looking at my shorts, where there was a giant hardon underneath the tropical fronds and flowers.

So OK, you know what I did next, on the bed they’d just made up.  While I was enjoying a truly awesome jerk I was thinking about how great it would be to get my next housekeeping visit.  It was too much to take in—those sleek brown uniforms, those thick brown boots, those little brown caps, those thick taut muscles underneath that thick smooth cloth . . .  Who knew that brown was my favorite color!  And those two dudes in uniform—they were there to serve me!  They HAD to serve me!  Who knew that I’d enjoy having servants?

Of course, I realized that Dobie and Patrick were laying it on thick by calling me “sir” all the time.  They were just a little older than I was, yet apparently they’d lived a Life of Crime, which was more life than I’d ever lived.  But whether it was true or not, what I liked—besides the obvious—was being treated like a grown-up.  Nobody ever did that.  When we went to the restaurant that night, my dad would say, “And the young man would like . . . . ,” and then order the food.  “Young man” means you’re still a kid.  But everybody treated me like a nice little kid.  Even at the hospital they’d say, “Joel, would you please go down the hall and bring us another chair?”, instead of, “Go get a chair.”  It was because I WAS just a nice kid!  I never did anything wrong, so everybody treated me nice all the time.  At school I never had a single fight.  Quarrel.  Dispute.  Argument.  Not one!  Why?  Because the other kids—there’s that word again—just thought I was too nice to fight with.  Nobody even yelled at me!  Not even the coaches!

Of course, I knew that Patrick and Dobie were sort of looking down on me when they kept calling me “sir.”  They were gonna do what they were gonna do in my room, whether I was around or not.  They didn’t say it, because they didn’t need to.  I also thought that maybe they sorta knew that I knew that they knew . . . .  So was I looking up to them, or what?  I’d never had to wonder about anything like that before.  It was interesting—for a change!  Because when did I have anything interesting to do?  Or think about, for that matter!  Yeah, but they probably wouldn’t come back.  Tomorrow, I’d spend all day waiting around for them, and nothing would happen.  Nothing ever happened to me.  I was just the boy next door. . . .

My dick was now officially dead.  And to make it worse, there was a sound at the door–must be my fuckin parents.  So who cares?  I’ve lost my hardon anyway.  Another sound.  “I’m coming!”

But it was Patrick and Dobie!  With those beautiful smiles!

“We ver’ sorry sir,” Patrick said, “but seem like we forget part of our equipment here sir.”

Equipment?  They must have the wrong room.  It was enough to make me cry.

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I didn’t see . . . . ”

“We think we know where it is sir,” Dobie said.  “May we come in sir?”

They walked in without waiting for an answer.  OK, I thought, this is where I get my ass robbed.  Well, it’s worth it.  The door closed behind them.

There was one of those little night stands next to the bed.  They walked across to it, and Patrick opened the drawer.  “There it is,” he said.  “Just where I thought it was.  Sir.”  He was looking into the drawer like I should come and look too.  So I did.

It was a blunt.  Even the boy next door knows what a blunt is.  “Important equipment, sir,” Patrick said.  “Would you like to see how we use it sir?”

We sat on the bed and smoked.  Then we lay on the bed and smoked.  Shit I was high.  Whether it was the ganja or those brown uniforms looking official on each side of me, like these guys were soldiers or cops or prison guards and they’d caught me and they had me in custody, or like they were gang guys and I was part of their gang —  I don’t know, I was just totally high.  And pretty soon somebody’s hands were going under my shorts, and everybody’s shorts were coming off, and then everybody’s shirts and boots—wow, boots!  If I’d ever worn boots, everybody I knew would have laughed at me, like, hey Joel! you in the army, dude?  But I’d never worn boots.  And THEN . . . I was truly, actually, unbelievably, awesomely, monstrously — having SEX!  All ways!  Sucked, sucking, fucked, fucking!  I couldn’t, like, say how it all happened . . . . Everything was so easy, it all just ran together.  Finally they let me cum, while I was fucking one of them.  I think it was Patrick.

When I woke up, they were already back in their uniforms, both grinning, as usual.

“How long was I out for?” I asked.

“Only about a week,” Dobie told me.

“We can come back tomorrow,” Patrick said.  “Same time.”

“Oh man!” I groaned.  “That would be great!”

“Only thing,” Dobie said.  “You want more a that weed, we, uh, gotta pay to get him.  Ya know?”

“Oh, right,” I said.  “I . . . uh . . . how much do you think?”  Of course, I would have given everything I had.  I would have given them my fuckin debit card!

“Ninety buck.”

“Right.”  I reached for my wallet.  Now that I was awake, something inside me said, “Maybe you don’t have that wallet anymore.  Or your debit card.  Or your driver’s license.”  But guess what—everything was still there!  I’d never loved anybody before in my life, but now . . . .  I handed over the cash.

“Thanks boss!”  Big smiles.  “We be here.  Mornin, we clean you toilet.  Later, we clean somethin diffrent.  Sir.”

To be continued …

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